Willows, Jennifer - Bound by Accident [Moreland Brothers 1] (Siren Publishing Allure)
Page 1
Moreland Brothers 1
Bound by Accident
Makenzie has given up much to help her loved ones. She gave up on her hopes and dreams of artistic fame. Her life consists of her job, making love with herself, and painting in the wee hours of night. Until one fateful Friday ends with her car pinned to a tree. The man who helps her that evening belongs to her. She sees it in his eyes, intense and burning.
Charyn Moreland is a Master of bondage arts, yet no woman ever touches him. He stopped looking for Ms. Right after catching his ex in bed with his brother years ago. But once he encounters Makenzie at the scene of a terrible car accident, their gazes lock and he is going to have her regardless of what he has to do. She is his.
But after a single night of scorching passion, can he convince her to trust him?
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Interracial
Length: 63,905 words
BOUND BY ACCIDENT
Moreland Brothers 1
Jennifer Willows
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
BOUND BY ACCIDENT
Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer Willows
E-book ISBN: 1-61034-912-1
First E-book Publication: November 2011
Cover design by Jinger Heaston
All cover art and logo copyright © 2011 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of Bound by Accident by Jennifer Willows from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.
The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.
This is Jennifer Willows’ livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Willows’ right to earn a living from her work.
Amanda Hilton, Publisher
www.SirenPublishing.com
www.BookStrand.com
DEDICATION
To my father, you were a wonderful man and your daughter misses you every day. My only regret is that you didn’t get the chance to know about the fact that I’m now a published author. You would have been so proud of me.
To my loving husband, Maurice, you make every moment of life with you one of adventure and spice. I am the luckiest woman in the world to have you supporting and loving me. Plus, you gifted me with two big-head children who are too smart for their own good.
To the persons who edited my book, thank you for helping me create a work that I am proud to show the world. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the criticism and compliments.
Last, but not least, thanks to the friends in my life who dealt with my attitude and lack of phone calls when I was a busy little bee working on this book. Lunch is on me, ladies.
BOUND BY ACCIDENT
Moreland Brothers 1
JENNIFER WILLOWS
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 1:
Tale of Two Cities
Five years ago, New York City
Makenzie Stafford-Johns was not having a good day. She looked at her haggard reflection along the mirrored gallery wall. Her face, while still the same, was pinched and flustered. On a good day, Makenzie was usually compared to Jill Scott, with her medium-brown skin, delicate features, wide eyes and mouth. She was built like Jill, too, on the thick side on a bad day at a size twelve. Her breasts were a full D cup, and she had just a little behind. Enough so she wasn’t entirely flat in back, although most men in her experience preferred more.
The reason she looked so haggard was bad news, although it had been awhile since she had any of the good variety either. Deciding she needed time to think, she left work at the gallery early and walked to the nearest entrance to the subway. Her mom had called her on her cell, just before her last break of the day. The news she had gotten during the call made her scared, more than scared. Hell, terrified may be more appropriate. Her mom had cancer, and her insurance dropped her when she got laid off last month. The seemingly innocent conversation replayed in her head over and over again during her trip home.
“Makenzie, I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“I always have time for you, mom. What’s up?”
“I’m sick.”
“Do you need some money? I have some extra cash I can send if you need to pick up some TheraFlu or something,” she had said, even as the thought crossed her mind that it wasn’t really extra if she wanted to eat something aside from Ramen noodles this month.
“It’s not that kind of sick baby, although I wish it was.”
“Then what kind, mommy?” Her mom was silent for long moments. Enough time to have her check the phone to see if the call dropped.
“I have breast cancer.”
If she didn’t make a way fast, her mom could die without treatment. She took the way home on autopilot, not seeing anyone or anything around her. This was a dangerous undertaking at night in this city, especially considering her youth and beauty. She had lived here for two years, one of them with her boyfriend, Sean. When she walked in the door of the apartment, she was sobbing, unsure of what to do or how to do it.
She met Sean a year ago at a soiree the university was having at the gallery. At the time she thought him handsome, with his dark-brown bald head and long, lean body. When she spoke to him, she was sprung, as she loved nothing more than a big brain. But in the time they were together, they barely had sex. If she was lucky it was once a month. Most of their relationship had been spent working on his
doctoral thesis, and he wouldn’t change his drawers or eat if she left for too long. They were more or less roommates at this point, and Makenzie didn’t think he’d realize it if she just suddenly up and left for good.
Speaking of which, Sean was sitting at his computer as usual, so lost in theorems that he didn’t hear or see anything but the complex codes in front of him. He lived, slept, breathed astrophysics, and was working on a theory that would change the world of space travel. Makenzie, used to being ignored in favor of intellectual pursuits, just walked to her room, still sobbing. Picking up the beaten, old cordless phone next to her side of the bed, she dialed her best friend Charli’s number by rote. Her friend kept her sane these last couple of years, even with the distance between Wilmington and New York. Especially with the time she wasted, years of trying to make it in the city, her paintings not exotic enough in a period of distinct “isms.” Most popular artists now didn’t create an individual, realistic work. She worked in a gallery, and most of the stuff that sold was crap.
To Makenzie it was simple. Regular, everyday people like real art, not this frou-frou garbage without substance. Yet after many hours wasted walking the streets of New York, in two years, no one had taken more than a cursory glance at her portfolio. Gallery owners would do a sweep, eyes scanning like they didn’t see her or her work. Their final expressions always appeared the same, a collective and resounding, “How unfortunate for you.” As though her work was crap, and it wasn’t. She knew it. But as circumstances lay, dreams or not, she had to go home. Her mom needed her. The phone was ringing, and seconds later, her friend greeted her.
“Hey, boo!” There was a lot of noise in the background. Charli was most likely at a party, having the time of her life.
“Hey.” Mak knew she should try to keep the sadness from her voice, but she needed her best friend to care. She lived in a city with millions, and ninety-nine percent of them wouldn’t spit on her if she were on fire. It was a world of difference back home in East Bumfuck, North Carolina. Folks in small towns were nosy. If someone blew a flat, their first cousin would know two hours later. Then the same cousin will call, fussing, because there was no phone call asking them to come and fix it.
“What’s wrong? Hold on.” Charli’s voice was going in and out, and when she spoke again, she was somewhere blessedly silent. “Now what happened? Is it Sean? That egghead boy ain’t shit, Mak. I’m telling you, genius or not, that chile’ is a bit touched.”
“No, Charli, it’s not Sean. It’s mom.” With that said, Mak gave her best friend the nitty-gritty. Charli kept her mouth shut, as there was nothing she could say that could even make sense of how horrible the moment felt. Ms. Sharon was everybody’s mom. Back in the day, all the kids in the neighborhood knew they were always welcome in her home for refreshment, hugs, or just a snack. Ms. Sharon was the glue that kept many of their peers out of trouble, away from the long arm of the law.
“Dang, I’m sorry, Mak.” Charli was crying along with her best friend, both weeping into their phones. Charli just started rambling, and apparently tuned her out. Makenzie could tell her friend’s mind was racing. But her mental wanderings apparently had purpose, and she hit on a solution. Charli put the brakes on Makenzie’s chatter, giving her the meat of her impulsive plan.
“Wait a sec, I have an idea. One of the hiring managers at the phone company, Jack, loves to smoke. He’s bought a lot of grass from me over the years, and I can tug some strings with him. If I take a bit of stashed rainy-day money, then we could help pay for the three months of treatments while Ms. Sharon is uninsured. The job will cover her chemo and meds later. I’ve already got a house we can all live in. It’s perfect, a two-family duplex right in the heart of Wilmington. As a matter of fact, I’m having a party in the unoccupied unit right now. I live in the other half. If I put in a small investment, the spare side would be lovely. It just needs paint. Maybe carpet, too.”
Makenzie agreed without thought, knowing something had to happen fast to help her mom. The decision she made in that moment to let her childish fantasies go hurt. But, she was sure this spelled the end of the road for her dreams, since she wouldn’t make it at this rate for too much longer anyway. Each rejection of her paintings killed her slowly and had nearly crushed her spirit. She was just holding on to her soul by the skin of her teeth, and nothing here seemed worth fighting for anymore. When she walked out of her bedroom and glanced at the gentle giant of a man hunched over a laptop computer, the first thought to cross her mind was that even he wasn’t worth attempting holding on to either.
A week later, after running in circles trying to get ready, Mak was in a rental truck, the smallest she could find, since she only had boxes. She didn’t own any of the furniture and most everything in the apartment was Sean’s. He hugged her goodbye at the door, and Makenzie imagined he promptly forgot her as soon as the truck pulled off, after he went back to his desk. More than likely he wouldn’t feel disturbed by her absence until the power went out in a month for non-payment. She usually paid the bills, using his and her separate checking accounts, so he could work most of the day at his computer.
* * * *
Outside Wilmington, North Carolina
Charyn Moreland was also having a bad day. He was getting ready to close the sale on his house, and his fiancée, Tami Worthington, was being more than a bit bratty.
“Is this our vacation house?” Tami asked, tossing a long blond lock over her shoulder.
“Nope, I want to live here year-round. The commute to the office won’t be horrible, and it’s right off the beach.”
“That’s nice, granted. But it’s somewhat small, don’t you think? Are we demolishing it and rebuilding?”
The questions grated his nerves, and his response was a bit sharp. “There are at least five bedrooms, Tami.” His belly was near empty and growling, as their dinner an hour ago was a joke. How in the world Tami thought the tiny meal served at the chic restaurant would satisfy him was beyond his comprehension. It was always the same, every night he went out with her. Another trendy eatery complete with minimalist tiny plates and at exorbitant prices. At this rate, he’d die from starvation before he could marry her.
She pouted slightly. Once upon a time the motion used to be cute. Not any longer, a year after they began dating. All he felt now was a vague sense of boredom peppered with the occasional bout of annoyance at her spoiled behaviors. He noticed exactly how fast he was going and attempted to slow down, despite how antsy he felt. Charyn was ready to take her back to her house, a palatial estate fit for South Carolina royalty. Tami’s family was well-known, and some of her ancestors came over on the first expedition of the new country. She was a debutante, had a coming out and everything. She was used to the finest in life and had no hesitation in asking for more. Her father and uncle were senators, and her father had White House aspirations. They were American blue blood and preferred every person meeting them knew it. Nothing was sacred for Tami, not even their relationship. Any means was worth the end to her. Hell, her last name may as well be Machiavelli. He didn’t even really know why he proposed. Thinking about it, he barely tolerated her or her damn family. They made the drive to Tami’s in silence and not even the radio intruded.
Charyn was silent, his thoughts riding him hard. This wasn’t going to work. She didn’t even like bondage, in fact refused to even let him try. After making several attempts to discuss it, he grew tired of feeling like a monster attempting to rape an innocent, instead of a man making love with his intended bride. Really, that was the point where he should have let her go. Only thing was his pride wouldn’t let him admit he’d made a mistake. But now all the old reservations came back, and he didn’t see how he let the farce go on so long.
Charyn watched Tami pout prettily, but he was through at this point, and she wasn’t going to get any more of his attention. He knew she saw the way he ignored her now, and over time he’d become less tractable to her wishes. During the entire ride Charyn felt like he had
a weight on his chest, a hundred twenty or so pounds of wily debutante pouting the whole ride south.
When they arrived at Tami’s house, Charyn knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t really care about her, wasn’t in love with her, but he wasn’t a man who could be deliberately cruel. Not to a female. His mom would skin him alive, with good reason. But when Tami looked at him and asked him to come inside with her, he didn’t want to add insult to injury.
It’s a damn shame, he thought, when a man has a model-perfect woman offer sex on a platter and he would rather not take her up on the offer. The thought disgruntled him so badly, he begged off, claiming to need to meet a contractor for the house. But he would have to break it off tomorrow. Coward, his thoughts mocked him, as he drove away, headed back to his new home.
* * * *
Tami Worthington could see her fiancé was no longer interested in marrying her. Their relationship had degraded to the farce of a marriage her parents had already, and while that was fine with her, she saw he wasn’t buying it. Everything could have been so perfect, if not for the latest debacle with this house. She couldn’t imagine living in the confines of that tiny wreck of a beach cottage on a permanent basis. Please, her pool house was bigger. Maybe she could have a last hurrah in bed with Charyn before she kicked him to the curb. Even if she wanted to dump him, he still had wonderful cock. Breaking up was the best thing she could do, for herself. It was a shame though, especially considering his looks. She was going to miss him, with those penetrating hazel eyes and strong jaw. Another plus was his height. There were many men Tami could look in the eye, but not him. He even towered over her in her four-inch heels today, and those put her just over the six-foot mark.